pressure on the Ubar's Initiate's File. It could also give you time to build an even stronger attack.'
'Of course,' I said.
He placed his Ubara at Ubara's Tarnsman Two.
'That is the better move,' I said.
'I think so,' he said.
Ubar's Initiate Nine, that square from which I might effect capture of Home Stone, was now protected by his Ubara.
'Behold,' I said.
'Yes?' he said.
I now moved my Scribe from Ubara Two to Ubara's Tarnsman Three. This bought it onto the diagonal on which lay the crucial square, Ubar's Initiate Nine. he could not take it with his Ubara, of course, sweeping down his Ubara's Tarnsman File, because it was protected now by my other Rider of the High Tharlarion, that hitherto, seem9ingly innocent, seemingly uninvolved piece which had just happened, apparently, to be posted at Ubara's Scribe Two. now its true purpose, lurking at that square, was dramatically revealed. I had planned it well. 'You may now protect your Home Stone,' I said, 'but only at the cost of your Ubara.' I would now move my Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubar's Initiate Nine, threatening capture of Home Stone. His only defense would be the capture of the Rider of the High Tharlarion with his Ubara, at which point, of course, I would recapture with the Scribe, thus exchanging the Rider of the High Tharlarion for a Ubara, an exchange much to my profit. Then with my superior, even overwhelming, advantage in material, it would be easy to bring about the conclusion of the game in short order.
'I see,' he said.
'And I had red,' I reminded him. Yellow opens, of course. This permits him to dictate the opening and, accordingly, immediately assume the offensive. Many players of Kaissa, not even of the caste of players, incidentally, know several openings, in numerous variations, several moves into the game. This is one reason certain irregular, or eccentric, defenses, though often theoretically weak, are occasionally used by players with red. In this way the game is opened and new trails, even if dubious ones, must be blazed. If these irregular or eccentric defenses tend to be successful, of course, they soon, too, become part of the familiar, analyzed lore of the game. On the master's level, it might be mentioned, it is not unusual for red, because of the disadvantages attendant on the second move, to play for a draw.
'You still have red,' observed my opponent.
'I have waited long for this moment of vengeance,' I said. 'M triumph here will be all the sweeter for having experienced so many swift, casual, outrageously humiliating defeats at your hands.'
'Your attitude is interesting,' he said. 'I doubt that I myself would be likely to find in one victory an adequate compensation for a hundred somewhat embarrassing defeats.'
'It is not that I am so bad,' I said, defensively. 'It is rather that you are rather good.'
'Thank you,' he said.
To be honest, I had never played with a better player. Many Goreans are quite skilled in the game, and I had played with them. I had even, upon occasion, played with members of the caste of players, but never, never, had I played with anyone who remotely approached the level of this fellow. His play was normally exact, even painfully exact, and an opponent's smallest mistake or least weakness in position would be likely to be exploited devastatingly and mercilessly, but, beyond this, an exhibition of a certain brilliant methodicality not unknown among high-level players, it was often characterized by an astounding inventiveness, an astounding creativity, in combinations. He was the sort of fellow who did not merely play the game but contributed to it. Further, sometimes to my irritation, he often, too often, in my opinion, seemed to produce these things with an apparent lack of effort, with an almost insolent ease, with an almost arrogant nonchalance.
It is one thing to be beaten by someone; it is another thing to have it done roundly, you sweating and fuming, while the other fellow, as far as you can tell, is spending most of his time, except for an occasional instant spent sizing up the board and moving, in considering the ambient trivia of the camp or the shapes and motions of passing clouds. If this fellow had a weakness in Kaissa it was perhaps a tendency to occasionally indulge in curious or even reckless experimentation. Too, I was convinced he might occasionally let his attention wander just a bit too much, perhaps confident of his ability to overcome inadvertencies, or perhaps because of a tendency to underestimate opponents. Too, he had an interest in the psychology of the game. Once he had put a Ubara 'en prise' in a game with me. I, certain that it must be the bait in some subtle trap I could not detect, not only refused to take it but, worrying about it, and avoiding it, eventually succeeded in producing the collapse of my entire game. Another time he had done the same thing with pretty much the same results. 'I had not noticed that it was 'en prise',' he had confessed later. 'I was thinking about something else.' Had I dared to take advantage of that misplay I might not have had to wait until now to win a game with him. Yes, he was sometimes a somewhat irritating fellow to play. I had little doubt, however, that, in playing with him, my skills in Kaissa had been considerably sharpened.
'Do you wish to resign?' I asked him.
'I do not think so,' he said.
'The game is over,' I informed him.
'I agree,' he said.
'It would be embarrassing to bring it to its conclusion,' I said.
'Perhaps,' he admitted.
'Resign,' I suggested.
'No,' he said.
'Do not be churlish,' I smiled.
'That is a privilege of 'monsters',' he said.
'Very well,' I said. Actually I did not want him to resign. I had waited a very long time for this victory, and I would savor every move until capture of Home Stone.
'What is going on?' asked Bina, coming up to us, chewing a larma.
'We are playing Kaissa,' said the monster.
I noted that she had not knelt. She had not thrust her head to the ground. She had not asked for permission to speak. Her entire attitude was one of slovenly disregard for our status, that of free men. She was not my slave, of course. She belonged to Boots.
'I can see that,' she said, biting again into the larma. The juice ran down the side of her mouth.
Her foot was on the edge of the monster's robes, as he sat before the board, cross-legged.
'Who is winning?' she asked.
'It does not matter,' I said. I was angry with her animosity towards the monster. It was not my intention to give her any occasion to receive gratification over his discomfiture. She wore light, leather slippers. Boots had permitted footwear to both Bina and Rowena. He was an indulgent master. To be sure, Lady Telitsia had not yet been permitted footwear, but then she had not yet been permitted clothing either, except for her collar, except when it was in the nature of costuming for her performances. 'Do you play?' I asked.
'I am a slave,' she said. 'I cannot so much as touch the pieces of the game without permission without risking having my hands cut off, or being killed, no more than weapons.'
'You do not know how to play, then?' I said.
'No,' she said.
'Do you understand anything of the game?' I asked.
'No,' she said.
'I see,' I said. That pleased me. It was just as well if she did not understand the dire straits in which my opponent now found himself. That would surely have amused the slinky little slut. Surely she knew her foot was on his robes. Surely he, too, must be aware of this.
'I have offered to extend to you such permissions, and teach you,' he said.
'I despise you,' she said.
'Your foot is on the robes of my antagonist,' I said.
'Sorry,' she said. She stepped back a bit, and then, deliberately, with her slipper, kicked dust onto his robes.
'Beware!' I said.
